I came to Duncan's chambers with every intension of adorning the guards with the king's blood, laying the daggers in their hands, and leaving. That was my plan.

However, when it happened that I arrived, I could feel a morbid curiosity overcoming me. I place the daggers for the second time tonight, and, trying not to think about what I am about to do, approach the bed.

There the king lies. His eyes are still closed and his features are so composed that I might have thought him simply sleeping were it not for the puddle of blood that lay beneath him on the sheet, gathering even now. The resemblance to my father is still there, and I begin to tremble.

I stumble blindly from the room, vomiting discretely in the muck that covers the ground before returning to my husband.